


French 75

by tinydooms



Category: The Mummy (1999), The Mummy Series
Genre: F/M, Married Sex, Morning After, cocktails, hangovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 06:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27050101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinydooms/pseuds/tinydooms
Summary: Evie opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry; she blinked heavy sleep from her eyes. The room was turned the wrong way round--how peculiar. No. She was lying upside down in bed, her head where her feet should be. How odd. And cold--where were the blankets? Evie felt around herself, still not fully awake, and found a sheet hanging off the edge of the bed. She pulled it over herself. No wonder she was cold; she was wearing no clothing. Wait.
Relationships: Evy Carnahan O'Connell/Rick O'Connell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	French 75

**French 75**

_Cairo, March 1923_

Evie opened her eyes. Her vision was blurry; she blinked heavy sleep from her eyes. The room was turned the wrong way round--how peculiar. No. She was lying upside down in bed, her head where her feet should be. How odd. And cold--where were the blankets? Evie felt around herself, still not fully awake, and found a sheet hanging off the edge of the bed. She pulled it over herself. No wonder she was cold; she was wearing no clothing. Wait. 

Evie opened her eyes and looked round, nonplussed. Yes, she was lying the wrong way around in her own bed with a decided lack of both clothing and bedding. Rick lay beside her in a similar state of deshabille. Raising herself up on an elbow, Evie saw that their clothes were flung around the room. Her aubergine evening gown was draped decorously over a chair, true, but Rick’s nice evening suit was crumpled on the floor, the jacket by the door and the trousers with one leg inside-out, and their underwear was strewn about the room, flung willy-nilly, and one of Evie’s stockings was hanging off the top of the four-poster. She felt very sticky, but otherwise very lovely. Sated. Memory began to reassert itself as she looked over the mess. 

They had gone dancing at one of the newer nightclubs, where the band played American jazz music. There had been cocktails, a lot of them, and she and Rick had become hot and high-spirited. Evie remembered flirting with Rick, both of them laughing uproariously, dancing dangerously close even for a married couple, deciding that they wanted to go home for some proper hanky-panky. She remembered kissing in the cab, stumbling through the house trying to be quiet and failing, falling into their bedroom and slamming the door. She remembered fumbling with Rick’s buttons, desperate to get him undressed and into her arms, remembered pushing him down onto the bed and climbing onto him, riding him like they were going into battle. She had made him writhe and moan and shout in pleasure. Oh, _yes_. She remembered _that._ Evie grinned. 

She lowered her eyes to her husband. Rick was sprawled beside her, so still he seemed dead. Evie put her hand on his chest: his heart beat firm and steady under her palm. Really, he was so beautiful it was almost indecent. Those broad shoulders, those long legs, his strong arms and tapered waist and smooth lower belly...Evie leaned on her elbow, looking Rick over in a way that would have made him blush were he awake. She rubbed her hand over him, chest to belly to-

Rick sprang awake with a gasp and a start that made Evie pull her hand back. He started to sit up, then clutched his head and fell back with a groan. 

“Are you alright?” Evie asked.

Rick cracked his eyes open. The room was the wrong way around and the light was too bright. It seemed to be morning. His wife was smirking at him. “What happened last night?”

Evie, whose hair was so tousled it was practically standing on end, grinned wider. “What do you remember?”

Rick closed his eyes and tried to rein in his circling thoughts. He remembered dancing, and drinking, and laughing. He remembered Evie sitting on his lap in the taxi home, putting his hand up her skirt because she liked it and he could. He remembered rubbing his face into the soft skin of her inner legs, making her moan; remembered pushing her down into the mattress with her knees hooked over his shoulders until she was a screaming, writhing mess of pleasure. He opened his eyes. 

“Did we get really drunk and have very loud sex?”

“Yes,” Evie said, tracing patterns into his chest. “At least, I remember the cocktails and the sex. I’m not so sure about being loud. How do you feel?”

“Like I’m going to die,” Rick said, but he grinned as he said it and pulled her into his arms. Evie was perfect and naked and if his head hadn’t felt like it was about to roll off of his shoulders, Rick would have been ecstatic. “Tell me again, how is it fair that I get hangovers and you don't?”

Evie laughed. “My poor darling. But we had fun. I feel delicious.”

“You look delicious,” Rick replied. “If I didn’t feel so gross, I’d eat you.”

“Well, you know what they say about ‘hair of the dog’...”

Rick rolled over, pinning Evie beneath him. Her eyes took on a singularly come-hither look and Rick chuckled and kissed her cheek. “Honey, at the moment the only thing I’m capable of is drinking a lot of water and lying in a hot bath. You don’t want me right now. I’m disgusting.”

“Oh, fine.” Evie bopped his chest and Rick lay back down beside her, willing his stomach to stop rolling. “Let’s have a bath and I’ll fetch you an aspirin. I daresay we’ve had enough love making for one night.”

Rick made a small grunt as Evie rolled out of bed and went through to the bathroom for the aspirin. She was so very beautiful, and outrageous, and funny, and damn this wretched hangover. The sooner he was shot of it, the better. Rick tottered upright and, one hand to his head, followed her into the new day. 

Author's Note: this was in response to a prompt on Tumblr. If you'd like to leave me a fic request, please do! I love hearing from you all. A French 75 is a cocktail (as you probably already know) and it was newly invented during WW1 and the original recipe was said to have a kick akin to a French 75mm field gun. Also, as of 16 October 2020, I am reposting this from "A Book of Life" into it's own one-shot. I didn't like the previous set-up, so I'm fixing it. 


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